(Elior's POV)
The mornings in Rowan's grove always begin the same way now.
Warmth first.
Then breath.
Then the quiet hum of magic settling around me like a second skin.
I wake slowly, the way someone does when they know they're safe. Rowan's arm is draped over my waist, heavy and protective even in sleep. Aeris's breath is synced with mine, his chest rising and falling against my shoulder. Elias's hand rests over my heart, grounding me with that soft, steady pulse of prophecy‑magic. Noctis's wing is a cool, shadowy weight across my legs, a shelter more than a barrier. And Sylas—
Sylas is everywhere.
His resonance curls through my ribs like a warm tide, a heartbeat braided with mine. There's no separation between us anymore. No boundary. No moment where I can't feel him. His emotions move through me like my own, and mine through him. It's comforting in a way I never expected. Like being held from the inside.
I shift slightly, and Rowan stirs behind me.
"You're awake," he murmurs, voice rough with sleep. His arm tightens around my waist. "Stay a little longer."
I smile into the pillow. "I wasn't going anywhere."
Aeris makes a soft sound, half‑asleep and half‑aware. "I'd feel it if you tried," he whispers, breath brushing my cheek.
He would.
He always does.
Elias sits up slowly, rubbing his eyes. "Your magic feels calmer this morning," he says, voice still thick with sleep. "Clearer."
Sylas's fingers slide into my hair. His resonance hums through my chest in greeting — warm, affectionate, possessive in that quiet way only he can be.
Good morning, he thinks, and I feel the words more than hear them.
Noctis shifts at my feet, his wing tightening around me. "You slept deeply," he says, voice low and ancient. "No dreams."
He says it like a blessing.
He says it like a relief.
He says it like someone who remembers the first time I died.
I sit up, and the others follow instinctively — a ripple of motion, a constellation shifting around its star.
Rowan brushes a hand through my hair. "How do you feel?"
"Steady," I say. "Stronger."
Aeris leans into my shoulder. "Your breathing is calm."
Elias studies me with soft eyes. "Your threads are aligned."
Noctis's gaze is the most intense. "Your light is brighter."
Sylas's resonance curls around my ribs. You're growing.
I swallow. "Because of all of you."
Rowan shakes his head. "No. Because you're awakening."
"Because you're remembering," Elias adds.
"Because you're healing," Aeris whispers.
"Because you're ours," Sylas thinks, and the words echo through my chest like a vow.
Noctis's voice is barely audible. "Because you lived."
The grove is quiet for a long moment.
Birdsong.
Wind through leaves.
The soft glow of morning light.
Peace.
Hard‑earned peace.
Months of training.
Months of bonding.
Months of learning each other's magic.
Months of learning my own.
Months of becoming something whole.
We've trained every day — Rowan teaching me to anchor my magic through my heart, Aeris teaching me to breathe through panic, Elias teaching me to read the threads of possibility, Noctis teaching me to move through shadow, Sylas teaching me to merge resonance without losing myself.
We've fought together.
We've slept together.
We've made love more times than I can count.
We've confessed devotion in every way magic allows.
We are not fragile anymore.
We are a constellation.
Rowan stands first, offering me his hand. "Come on. Breakfast. Then training."
Aeris brightens. "I made tea."
Elias smiles. "And I have a new vision to interpret."
Sylas's resonance curls around my ribs. And I want to spar with you again.
Noctis's shadow wraps around my ankle like a tether. "And I will watch."
I take Rowan's hand.
The moment my fingers touch his, the grove shifts.
The air thickens.
The light dims.
The shadows tremble.
A whisper moves through the trees — soft, broken, aching.
A voice I have never heard
but somehow remember.
"Elior…"
Noctis freezes.
Sylas's resonance spikes, sharp and protective.
Aeris's breath stutters.
Elias's eyes go white.
Rowan pulls me behind him, fire flaring at his fingertips.
The whisper comes again, closer this time.
"Elior… don't die again…"
My heart stops.
Not because the voice is frightening.
But because it is familiar.
Because it is grieving.
Because it is begging.
Because it is the voice of someone who once held me as I died.
The First Guardian's grief.
The echo of heartbreak made flesh.
The thing coming for me.
The thing we've trained for.
The thing we've feared.
The thing that loved me wrong.
The air shivers.
The grove holds its breath.
And the whisper becomes a cry.
"Elior—"
Rowan steps forward.
Sylas's shadows rise.
Aeris grabs my hand.
Elias gasps.
Noctis bares his teeth.
And I—
I breathe.
For the first time in months,
the world shifts.
The storm has found us.